


On the Job

by winterwonderland



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Jokes, Gun Violence, M/M, light angst and schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5551874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwonderland/pseuds/winterwonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're working for an elite private security firm like Meyer and Associates, a bad day at work can take on a whole different meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Contains swearing, references to someone being shot and bad attempts at humor.

 

It was fair to say that former U.S. Army Sergeant First Class Agron “Cowboy” Evans—why yes, Delta Force, thank you for asking—was having a bad day at the office.

What had started as a boring, run-of-the-mill surveillance op on a suspected domestic terrorist group had somehow not only managed to drop his team smack dab in the middle of a turf war between two warring factions of white supremacist asshole, but also leave Agron caught in the crossfire. Literally. And as if that wasn’t enough, now he was forced to play a goddamn game of hide-and-seek with these special brand of idiots just to survive and get out of this shithole.

And to add insult to injury, Agron was losing.

Legs giving out, he leaned heavily against the wall behind him, slowly sliding down along the rough brick surface until his ass hit the floor. His right shoulder was on fire, blood trickling out in a steady stream from the open wounds, making everything sticky. He felt dizzy and nauseous. Oh, and this warehouse … it stank like a stockyard sewer.

The only thing not completely fucked up about the situation was the view. Because even covered in grit and mud and Agron’s blood, former Special Agent—and current M&A operative—Nasir Hasan was a sight for sore eyes when he emerged back into Agron’s line of sight from around the corner.

“You know, Hasan … If I wasn’t so sure you’d laugh in my face … I … ” Blood loss made him slur his words but Agron didn’t let that deter him. “I-I swear … I’d propose. Right here. Though don’t know if I could even … get on my knees … with this leg—”

“Shut up. Just fucking shut up, okay?” Nasir pressed against the wall, breathing hard, his gun gripped between his hands, eyes already on the next corner. “I already told you. I don’t wanna hear another word from you. Just sit still and put pressure on that damn bullet hole in your shoulder.”

“I like it … when you’re … bossy,” Agron ground out through gritted teeth. He closed his eyes and fought the shock of pain searing through his shoulder as he pressed harder on the compress. His right arm was tingling and his hand already numb. With a slight sense of dread, he realized he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore.

That was bad news, and Agron really could have done without more of those tonight.

Had it been just him in here, maybe he wouldn’t have cared … so much. Dying with his boots on had simply always been part of the deal in his line of work. And the odds of him meeting his maker like this—bleeding out from a stray AR round in some stinking hole in the middle of nowhere—had always been more or less one to one.

But there was no way he was going to let Nasir go down with him. Not in a million years. Agron hadn't blown his cover tonight just to end up watching Nasir die regardless. He wouldn’t let that happen, even if it killed him. And, hell, the way things were looking now, it probably would.

That was when Nasir, who was now about ten feet in front of him and pieing the corner, lifted his hand, signaling stop, quiet and then down.

Shit.

Agron did his best to fade back into the shadows, getting even more intimate with the bodily fluid rich clamminess that hugged the walls and floor, trying to avoid the biggest puddles on the concrete. With his right arm and hand not working at all and his legs barely able to hold his weight anymore, all he could do was to wait there and grit his teeth, silent and still, until Nasir was back, crouching next to him.

“We’re not alone down here anymore,” he told him. “Going by the prints there’s at least eight of them this time, all going in the same direction. They merged with our route about twenty feet from where we are right now. The good news is that they went past us already and most likely don’t even know we’re still here.”

“And the … bad news?”

“The way they went? It’s a dead end. There are no exits on that side and no way out of here.”

Agron closed his eyes for a second and then took as deep a breath as he could before opening them again. “We better … move. Now.”

“You read my mind, Evans.”

“Easy. It’s mostly just … pictures of me ... naked.” Agron winked and for a fraction of a second he could see a smile pass across Nasir’s face.

“Idiot,” the man breathed, then got back up on his feet. “Come on. The door should be in the second storage to the right.” His eyes traveled over Agron’s body, finally stopping at the bloodied leg of his pants. “There will be a couple of steps once we get there. Think you can make it, Cowboy?”

Agron gave the man his best grin, trying to keep it from turning into a pained grimace. “You ... questioning my ... prowess, Hasan?”

Nasir rolled his eyes as he grabbed Agron's arm and hauled him back on his feet. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Evans. Let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

A few silent minutes had already passed since they’d finally made it to the end of the corridor and the rusty metal door that would take them outside and out of this hellhole for good. All was quiet—for the moment. But Boone’s men were still out there, they had dogs and they had guns, and they were closing in.

Slowly, Nasir pushed down the door handle, half expecting for the door to jam and maybe even be bolted from the outside; it had been that kind of a night. But to his surprise and relief the door slid open with barely any noise, letting in a waft of fresh night air. Carefully, he took a look around him, clearing the immediate area. The yard stretched on in front of his eyes, quiet and dark and empty. He could make out the treeline in the distance, about two hundred yards out. Dammit.

That would definitely be too far for Agron.

Quietly, he closed the door again and returned inside.

“Ghost? Sanchez? Can you hear me?” he whispered, lifting his radio mic close to his mouth. He had to risk raising the rest of the team. “Agron’s hit and we could do with back-up. Are you still out there?”

Several silent seconds followed and then he tried again. Nothing.

“No one’s ... pickin’ up?”

Nasir looked up at Agron sitting on the concrete floor, propped up against the brick wall. His eyes were closed, his mouth a tight line. The graying color of his skin scared Nasir to death.

He shook his head, trying to hide his growing desperation. “Either the radio’s jammed,” he said, “or they can’t respond.”

Which was a possibility he rather not entertain right now. One member of their team riddled with bullet holes was enough for one night.

They couldn’t have been much deeper in shit than this. Boone’s men were knuckle dragging idiots in many ways, but they were also ex-military, armed and had nothing to lose. And this was their compound, their home ground. Their advantage.

“How long until ... the assholes come back ... this way?” Agron asked as his head dropped back heavily against the wall. Once again, his eyes were closed and his jaw clenched in pain.

Nasir could feel a fist tightening inside his stomach. “It should take them about thirty minutes—less if they’ve split up. And they’re bound to have called in reinforcements by now.” Something Nasir wasn’t able to do since their op tonight had been very much off the record—hush-hush, need-to-know basis only. There were indications that the governor’s son was part of the militia and that the corruption ran deep, maybe all the way up to federal level. So there would be no tac team rescues for them tonight. Their only ticket out of here was to get to the river in time and hope Saxa would be there to pick them up.

Nasir checked the magazine on his gun, then the one on his spare before peering out the door again. When he glanced back over his shoulder at Agron, he was all of a sudden met with that hauntingly familiar, self-assured grin Nasir had fallen for way back when he had first walked into “Spartacus” Meyer’s office—just a new recruit wet behind the ears—and gotten his first eyeful of this man in his T-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, leaning leisurely against the boss' desk, his inked arms crossed over his chest.

“So Hasan?”

“What?”

“Did you know ... how goddamn ... hot you look right now? Mister ... Secret Agent Man?”

“Yeah, you keep mentioning it,” Nasir grumbled and walked past him, back to the corner to check the corridor and make sure they were still here alone. “But you can drop the flirting now, big guy. I’m already coming home with you tonight.”

“Well, how ‘bout ... d’ya hear the one … about the neo-Nazi … who walked into a bar—”

“Dammit, Evans.” Nasir rubbed his hand over his face and then glared over his shoulder, frustrated, angry and scared as hell, “No more fucking jokes, okay? You don’t have to keep my spirits up. I’m fine. Let’s just concentrate on getting out of here.”

Agron had already taken a bullet for him tonight—figuratively and literally—and so now it was Nasir’s turn to stick his neck out for him. He’d get them out of here and to the river, even if it killed him. The only way Evans was going down tonight was if Nasir was going down with him.

But apparently his partner had not yet gotten the memo.

“Okay, Hasan … listen up,” Agron rasped, his breathing getting more and more sporadic as the minutes ticked by, “Change of plans. Next thing … you walk out that door. See if you can … meet up with the ... team and … send them … back for me.”

“You’re a bigger idiot than I thought if you think I’m leaving you here alone. You can’t even grip your gun, what the hell would you do to defend yourself when those assholes finally come this way?”

“Play dead,” Agron said on a weak laugh.

Nasir shot him a look, something tight gripping his throat making it harder to breath. “Well you’re not in charge anymore, I am. And we’re getting out of here together.”

“Nasir—”

“I’m not leaving you.” He cut Agron off with another sharp look. “And the longer you sit there and argue bullshit with me, the more time we waste. We need to figure this out, and we need to move while you still can keep your feet under you.” 

“You know they got snipers … on the roof. And I can’t … run. We’ll be … dead ... halfway across the lawn.”

“Shut up.”

“Nasir, you know—”

“Shut up. I’m not leaving you, end of. So let’s go. I can carry you if it gets to that. We’ll just have to figure out a strategy to keep us out of the line of fire.”

Agron muffled a groan at the pain as he struggled up from the floor, but with Nasir’s help he managed to get to his feet. Nasir slung Agron’s good arm over his shoulder and then wrapped his own arm around Agron’s waist, taking on his weight as they headed towards the door.

They didn’t make it five steps before Agron’s knees gave out.

“Stay with me now, Cowboy. Just a little longer.” Somehow Nasir managed to pull the other man back on his feet again. “I’m not gonna carry your lazy ass up these stairs. I’ll lift you once we get outside.”

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to trying to dodge sniper fire with a couple of hundred pounds of added weight over his shoulders but what had to be done had to be done. They’d make it. Somehow. No way in hell was he going to give up on Agron now.

“Shit, Nasir. You’re gonna … save my ass … aren’t you?” Agron gritted out as he fought his weak legs and managed to stay upright and standing. “Sweep me off my … feet,” he added with what little breath he had.

“Please, please just stop talking,” Nasir begged, fighting that cold, crippling fear spreading up his spine, because he knew from that thin voice and from the heavy way Agron leaned on him that their time was quickly running out. “You need to save your breath. You need to—”

He stopped short when suddenly the radio in his ear crackled to life. It was Sanchez.

“Please tell me you can hear me now?”

Still shouldering Agron’s weight, Nasir grabbed the mic again. “Yeah, I hear you.” The relief from hearing her voice made him almost choke on the words. “We’re holding out at the south exit. Agron’s hit and I could do with another shoulder. Plus we got company down here. What’s your twenty?”

“Out on the west side about a hundred yards from you. The coast looks clear, so hold steady. We’re comin’ in.”

Shaking from relief as the surge of adrenalin came and went, Nasir slowly set Agron’s swaying body back down on the floor again. “I hear you. Come on down, we’re waiting.” Then he took another look at Agron slumped against the wall—eyes closed, breath shallow, face pale—and his heart sank again.

“Don’t you dare give up on me now, Evans. You’re not fucking dying on me today. I’m not gonna let you. You hear me, Cowboy? That’s an order.”

Just when he thought Agron had passed out, the man cracked one eye open and smirked at him. “Bossy, bossy.”

“You're such a dick.”

“All dick … all the time.”

With a deep, shuddered breath and a wobbly smile at Agron's gray, sweat-drenched face, Nasir positioned himself next to the door, gun at the ready in case his teammates would lead in unwanted visitors to crash the party. But when the door finally opened, all he could see was friendly faces and he sighed in relief and lowered his gun.

“How bad?” Naevia Sanchez—ex-Navy and current team medic, among other titles—immediately dropped to her knees next to Agron and yanked out her field kit while her partner followed her through the door, giving Nasir a pat on the shoulder before walking past them all and taking post at the end of the corridor.

“No organs but he’s lost a lot of blood,” Nasir said over his shoulder as he in turn took up a post by the door. In front of him the moonlit yard still stretched on empty and quiet. So far so good.

Naevia gently shook her head at Agron while she quickly assessed his injuries. “Always the center of attention, huh?”

“You know me,” Agron agreed with a pained grimace. “Can’t get enough of … your hands … on me.”

She turned quickly to Theroux—a.k.a. Ghost, a.k.a. her husband and a former Navy SEAL—who was standing by, his head on a swivel as he kept checking around the corners.

“He’s going into shock,” she told him. “We need to get him out of here. Yesterday.”

“Okay, you heard the lady, Texas. Time to stop flirtin’ and haul some ass.” With a last look behind him, Ghost made it back to Agron and then pulled him to his feet before turning back to Sanchez, “You ready to get us out of here?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered. Those assholes won’t know what hit them.”

“Better not … drop me,” Agron managed weakly as Ghost hefted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and started out the door with Naevia and Nasir not far behind.

“Always said that you Delta Force guys were nothin’ but a bunch of useless sons ‘a bitches,” Ghost groused, unable to hide the concern in his voice, “Just sittin’ round waitin’ to be rescued, huh?”

“Love you too, Casper,” Agron mumbled and then passed out cold.

“Okay, let’s get this party started.” Naevia grabbed herself two stun grenades and tossed a smoke grenade to Nasir. She pulled the pin on the first one and then the other, winging the grenades as hard as she could up towards the roof of the warehouse, one on each end in hopes to disorientate the snipers for long enough to give Ghost a running start. “Now fucking go,” she told the man, just as the first blast broke the silence, “We’ll cover you.”

Nasir knew her strategy: to make enough noise to fool their enemy that they were dealing with an army of people rather than just a four—make that three, soon to be two—person-team.

In five seconds the silent night turned into a chaos of screaming voices and gunfire and explosions, the flares lighting up the darkness around them. Nasir set off the smoke grenade and Ghost disappeared into the white screening smoke like a … well, a ghost, with Agron’s limp frame hung over his shoulders. Nasir and Naevia kept moving along the dark side of the building as she shrugged out of her pack and pulled out the last of the grenades while Nasir covered her six.

“So now it’s our turn,” she said with a grim grin. They could already hear the sound of quad bikes in the distance. “How’s your lap time been lately, Hasan? Think you can keep up?”

Nasir was barely aware of the branches and twigs slicing cuts in his arms as he pushed his way through the trees and the undergrowth, trying not to trip on the tree roots that gripped his feet every other step. And he barely noticed the rifle fire that followed at their heel like a bad smell. All he could think about was Agron. Nothing else mattered.

They leaped over tree trunks and rocks as they ran and had finally caught up with Ghost and Agron when Nasir suddenly heard the noise of a boat engine approaching up river. No four-stroke outboard had ever sounded sweeter.

“Finally!” Naevia shouted and sped ahead.

Nasir scrambled down behind her, skidding down the steep dirt ridge and ending knee deep in the muddy waters of the bayou, just as Saxa drove her center-console Monark up onto the shore.

Surprising everyone, their CO Steven “Spartacus” Meyer was standing at the bow, dressed in all-black with night goggles hanging from his neck, a rifle in his hand.

“Fuck, man. Haven’t been this happy to see your ugly face since Alaska,” Ghost yelled above the roar of motors as he climbed into the back of the boat and laid Agron down on the floor. When Nasir finally jumped in, Sanchez was already there, digging into her medic’s kit, while Saxa backed them away from the shore. Spartacus made sure they were covered as Saxa put the boat in full-throttle and quickly slipped away into the night.

The full moon shed its silver light over the surface of the water as they sped along, navigating through the maze of the bayou. Soon all other sounds disappeared behind them and despite the engine noise the boat seemed eerily quiet. No one spoke. Saxa handled the wheel. Ghost was standing guard while their CO had abandoned his gun and was now on the radio getting an ETA on their charter flight out of here.

Slowly, Naevia sat back on her heels and bunched up her rubber gloves. She bit down on her lower lip, wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm. They’d done what they could for Agron. She’d stopped the bleeding and taped his shoulder and started a drip that pushed fluids into his body.

Nasir, too, sat back down on the floor of the boat, Agron’s head now pillowed against his leg, and let his fingers mindlessly card through the man's short hair. Agron was too pale. His skin was clammy with sweat but cool to the touch. And he was yet to wake up.

“The chopper’s on its way,” Spartacus said as he walked over to the back of the boat. He had to raise his voice to be heard above the roar of the engine. 

“You told them to pack the transfusion kit?” Naevia asked.

Spartacus nodded. “Our pick-up’s about twenty minutes down river. Can he make it?”

Nasir caught the look Naevia shot Meyer over the top of his head and his heart missed a couple of beats, then sank right down to the bottom of his stomach.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “He’s lost a lot of blood, and...” She shook her head as if to shake away the thought. “But he’s not gonna die on my watch, Spartacus. Not gonna happen. Just... tell Saxa to find us a shortcut somehow, okay?”

Spartacus nodded again and then stood there for a moment more, face dark, hand playing with the butt of his holstered pistol.

Naevia caught Nasir’s eye across the floor of the boat and over Agron’s too-still body. “Nasir, I—”

“Don’t say it. No promises.” He didn’t want words. He didn’t need words. “Just get him out of here alive.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

The first time Agron woke, there were people bustling around him, fussing and poking. Bright lights were shining in his eyes. Needles pricked his skin. A vaguely familiar, stern voice was barking orders at someone out of Agron’s fuzzy line of sight.

Hospital. He must have been at the hospital.

Agron opened his mouth, wanting to know what the hell was going on and where his team was, but no sound came out. He could remember the explosions and gunshots and being hit with a round from an AR-15. He could remember the damp floor and walls of a stinking warehouse. He remembered Nasir...

Agron needed answers and he needed them now. The only problem was that he still couldn’t make any sounds come out of his mouth. Everything hurt, his eyes were heavy and soon talking just seemed too much of an effort altogether. He drifted off again, thirsty as hell, the ache in his shoulder ebbing and flowing like the tide.

The next time he came to, he started awake thirsty and in pain. He wasn’t even sure where the pain was coming from, just that it was there. More or less everywhere.

“Na—” The rest of the name was lost in a coughing fit. God, his throat felt like it had just been scraped clean with barbwire.

“That’s right, Agron. It's me. I’m here.”

Agron frowned, his fingers searching blindly on the mattress. Searching …

Searching …

A warm hand covered his, squeezed, and he let out a deep, relieved breath. He’d know that touch anywhere.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, the sudden brightness blinding him and hurting him enough that he had to screw his eyes shut again. Fuck it was painful to even breathe. It was painful to be. He felt like he had been run over by a truck. Twice.

A monitor beeped away beside his bed and his nose picked up the scent of disinfectant and cheap floor polish as he carefully tried to remember. Oh, right. Hospital. Then, just to make sure, he tried to lift his right shoulder.

Motherf—

_Okay, Agron. Let’s never do that again._

He blinked his eyes open again, and this time he caught a glimpse of something familiar in his line of sight and then Nasir’s face slowly became the focal point in his blurred vision. Agron could feel Nasir’s hands framing his face, warm on his cheeks. Then came the lips.

“Hey, you,” Agron whispered and lifted a hand to wipe away a tear from Nasir’s cheek. And then Agron smiled for him because the man was looking like a gentle breeze might just knock him over. 

“Hey,” Nasir whispered back, his own smile tight. A little off. He looked like he hadn’t shaved or slept in about a week, his eyes red-rimmed and tired as all hell. He pulled away and then fussed with Agron’s covers for a minute, puffed up his pillow and straightened his sheets before pressing the button to lift the head of the bed. “What do you need?” 

“You.”

“You’ve got me. Anything else? Something to drink?”

Agron nodded and Nasir helped a straw between his lips. The water was room temperature but still felt like liquid heaven against his tortured throat.

“You had me worried there for a minute, Cowboy.”

“Takes more than a few bullets to take me down,” Agron rasped, trying to teach his throat to speak in complete sentences again, “I’m not that easy, Hasan. You should’ve known that.”

“Hmm ... Somehow I’ve always had the impression that you were pretty easy.” His smile was as much relieved as it was teasing, and Agron could hear the layers of pain and worry seeping out of his voice with every word. The rigid line of his shoulders relaxed a fraction and he unclenched his jaw. 

Then his hand found Agron’s again and squeezed. Agron squeezed back.

“For the right guy I’m real easy,” Agron said and winked. “Trigger-happy Freedom Front asswipes on the other hand … Well they can just go suck my dick.”

A raised eyebrow.

“My proverbial dick.”

“Fair enough.” 

Nasir pulled his chair closer to the bed, took Agron's hand again and then started filling him in on what had been going on with their team since Agron had clocked out on Ghost's shoulders. Bedside briefings might not have been exactly protocol, but it was what Agron most needed right now and Nasir knew that better than anyone.

About three minutes into it, though, the door opened and the doctor walked in, soon followed by the nurse. He helped Agron drink some more water and fiddled with his IV while the doctor asked him some perfunctory questions and checked his vitals. Once she seemed satisfied with Agron’s state of still breathing she placed the chart back on the edge of the bed and left him with a borderline cheery, “and I don’t want to see you back on my ward again this year, Mr. Evans. So let’s just try to keep ourselves in one piece from now on, all right?”

“I’ll do my best,” Agron croaked out and then even managed a parting smile to the nurse who slipped out the room after the doctor, giggling to himself as he closed the door behind him.

Another raised eyebrow.

“What? I’m just happy I’m still alive.”

Nasir’s expression turned even weirder at the words, and for one crazy moment Agron wondered if he was actually jealous of some pimple-faced kid of all people. But then Nasir let out a deep sigh and his face softened and he bent down and kissed Agron’s brow.

“Me too, Cowboy. Me too.”

“Then c’mere.” Agron patted the mattress, careful to use his good arm for the gesture.

“I don’t think—”Nasir looked over his shoulder at the door then back at him. “I wouldn’t wanna crowd you. The bed’s not that big.”

“Good thing you’re pocket size, then.” Agron patted the mattress again, ignoring the death stare thrown his way. “Come on.”

“You’re an ass, Evans.”

“A cute ass.”

“A _pain_ in the ass.”

“Uh-huh.” Agron winked and Nasir rolled his eyes.

But he was smiling again when he walked over to the left side of the bed, then lowered the side rail and climbed in as slowly and carefully as he could, kicking off his shoes over the side. Agron lifted his good arm and made room for him to get up close and then promptly winced when the pain hit him again, right in the sternum.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any idea why I feel like I was kicked through the chest, would you? I thought I only got hit in the shoulder. Did something else happen after I blacked out?”

He probably should have asked the doctor earlier. But the truth was, he didn’t really trust doctors. He didn’t trust much of anyone—it was a character trait. He trusted Nasir, though.

But Nasir wasn’t answering.

“Hasan?”

“You … ” His voice died and he had to start over again. “Your heart stopped on the boat,” he said dully, voice suddenly toneless and drained of all emotion. “The CPR must’ve bruised your ribs. And … once we got to the chopper, they had to shock you. Twice.”

Agron blew out a breath. “Okay. Wow. I didn’t … Wow.”

He had assumed it had been a narrow escape, but he hadn’t realized exactly how narrow. He had actually thought the worse had been over once the back-up arrived. And now he had to wonder how close he had come to actually kicking it. Probably pretty close going by the look Nasir had on his face.

Not that Agron could blame him. He could only imagine how he would be acting had their roles been reversed … Actually, on second thought, no; he didn’t want to imagine that at all.

“Good,” he said finally, resting his hand against Nasir’s side, trying to keep the sudden shakiness out of his voice. “So my plan worked out perfectly.”

“It did, huh?”

“Yeah, got you right where I’ve always wanted you, didn't I?”

Careful of his IV line , Nasir took Agron's hand in his, laced their fingers and sighed. “Let me guess. Would that be … in your bed?”

“Exactly.” He held the man as close to him as he could bear, running his fingers along his arm. Up and down. In time with their breaths. “And speaking of beds, you look like you could do with the rest. Get some sleep and lemme take over for a sec, okay?”

“Aye-aye, Sergeant,” Nasir murmured against Agron's paper thin hospital gown, sounding like he was already half-asleep.

Then, just when Agron thought Nasir had fallen asleep, he could hear his voice in his ear again. Sleep-heavy and husky. Familiar.

“And Evans?” 

“Hmm?”

“If you ever scare me like that again, I swear to god I’ll kick your ass so hard you wish you never had one in the first place. And that would be a cryin’ shame ‘cos it _is_ a cute ass.”

Agron started to laugh, then winced when the pain cut through his shoulder like a blade of a dull knife. “Did you just give me a compliment, Hasan?”

“Maybe. Whatever.” Nasir sighed and closed his eyes again.

“I think you did. I think you’re getting soft. I think all these years with me are finally rubbing off on you.”

Nasir’s irritated groan made Agron only grin wider. Fuck debriefing and counseling, this right here was the best therapy money could buy.

“Hey, I like it when I rub off on you,” he said and then paused for maximum effect before adding, “If you know what I mean.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Nasir yawned, pushing hot air against Agron’s neck, tickling the skin. “Too tired, Evans. Call the nurse—I’m sure he’ll indulge you.”

Agron fought another urge to laugh out loud and mostly succeeded in keeping his shoulders from shaking this time. “Okay, okay. I’ll let you sleep now, but … you'll shut me up later, right?”

“Depends. Are you going to be saying stupid shit later?”

“I’m always saying stupid shit, darlin’. It’s part of my charm.”

“True,” Nasir said on another yawn.

“So … ?”

“So later.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

  
  



End file.
